


and I was drawn by the fire

by everywordnotsaid



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Clay Spenser, Team as Family, ash spensers A+ parenting, is anyone really surprised by this at this point?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24402364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywordnotsaid/pseuds/everywordnotsaid
Summary: In which the sins of the father weigh heavy on the shoulders of the son.
Relationships: Trent Sawyer & Clay Spenser
Comments: 82
Kudos: 278





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I always felt like there was a storyline that totally got dropped towards the end of season two that after the North Korea episode when Ash is talking about mission details on TV right after he met with Clay, so this is my shot at filling that in! Hope you enjoy!

Bravo’s just gotten back state-side from a spin-up in Yemen. It was a tough one all around, they nearly lost a hostage on the way out, and Jason and Clay had gotten into it on the flight home. The rest of them went out for a night of stress relief, but Clay had turned down the invitation to join, still stewing. Trent tried to text him a few times over the course of the night, but they’d gone unanswered and eventually he’d given up. Clay can be stubborn when he wants to be (which is most of the time) but he always comes around. If he needs space, then Trent’s not going to push it. Still, the night had felt a little subdued without their youngest members presence, and Trent had begged out around at around one, leaving the rowdier members of the team to finish out the party. 

He slouches his way down his hallway, suppressing a yawn. He hadn’t had that much to drink but it’s enough to make him look forward to crawling into his bed. When he gets closer to his apartment though Trent pauses, brow furrowing. The door to his place is unlocked and slightly ajar. He knows he locked it when he left for the evening, he always locks it. Immediately the alcohol haze starts to fade away, as he moves slowly towards his apartment. There’s a couple of college students who live down the hall, maybe one of them partied a little to hard and thought it would be fun to break into the neighbors apartments. Or maybe it’s just a run of the mill robber who’s about to have the worst luck in the world. Either way, you can never be too careful. Quietly he opens the door wide enough to slip through, careful not to let it creak. The inside of the apartment is shadowed and still, and Trent blinks his eyes a few times as they adjust to the dark after the well-lit hallway. When his night vision starts to kick in he can just make out a shape on his couch, like a body. 

He wishes he had his gun on him, but he settles for the heavy wooden bat he keeps by the door. Adjusting his grip on the makeshift weapon, he reaches out with his free hand and hits the light switch. If it is just some drunk frat boy he’s going to be pissed. The lights come on, and the lump on the couch sits up a little blearily. Very quickly Trent registers two things. The first is that it’s not a hammered student or a robber crashing on his couch, it’s Clay. The second is that his face is busted to hell. Somebody beat the shit out of him, and recently. 

“What the hell, Spenser, you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Trent asks, heart starting to slow from it’s adrenaline rush as he sets the bat back down and closes the door behind him. Clay blinks owlishly at him, taking a second to respond. When he does the words are sluggish and slurred, like he’s drunk, or maybe concussed from the way he’s looking. 

“I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know where else to go.”

He says, voice uncertain. Trent sighs, to be honest he’s glad Clay had the foresight to seek him out instead of crawling back to his apartment to die of a brain bleed in the middle of the night or something equally stupid. It’s not the first time a teammate’s shown up on his door step in rough shape, probably won’t be the last. 

“It’s fine, man. Just, let me take a look at that, huh?”

He says, gesturing to Clay’s still bloody face. He hopes he didn’t get too much on the couch, it’s always a bitch to clean out. Clay reaches up, presses two fingers to his lips. They come away stained red and he looks down at them almost in confusion, like he’d forgotten. 

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

Trent takes a quick detour to the hallway closet to grab the first aid kit he keeps there and a metal mixing bowl from the kitchen, then heads back to the living room. As he gets closer to Clay he can smell the scent of cheap tequila rolling off him in waves. So, drunk then. Kneeling beside the couch and depositing the bowl at Clay’s feet just in case he opens the kit and pulls a pair of gloves on. Up close Clay’s face looks even worse then from far away. One of his eyes is already starting to blacken, and there’s blood dripping from his nose and lip, looping it’s way across his cheek like he’d been lying down when it started. Trent starts to run his hands through Clay’s hair, along his skull, looking for any hidden wounds, but comes back clean. 

“You lose consciousness at all?”

He asks, as he begins to palpate Clay’s cheekbone where the worst of the bruising is. Clay shakes his head, wincing a little as Trent presses at a particularly tender spot. 

“No, don’t think so.” 

Trent pauses, and gives him a look. 

“You think you didn’t or you know you didn’t?”

He asks sternly, finishing his examination of Clay’s face and reaching into his kit for a penlight. Clay’s grimaces, eyes creasing as he thinks. 

“Maybe for a few seconds. But not very long. Can remember the whole thing.”

Trent nods, clicking on the light and shining it first in one of Clay’s eyes and then the other. The right pupil is a little slow to react, constricting a hair after the left. 

“Alright, any dizziness, nausea?”

Clay nods carefully. 

“Yeah. But, uh, that might just be the alcohol.” 

Trent sighs, clicks the pen light off and tucks it back into his bag. The fact that Clay’s hammered right now isn’t particularly helpful to his diagnosis. 

“Well, face looks okay, no fractures as far as I can tell. I’m going to go out on a limb and say you have a mild concussion. Won’t be able to know for sure till we get an MRI at the hospital though. I’ve had a couple beers so we should call a cab.”

He says, starting to push himself to his feet. Clay reaches out and grabs at his wrist before he can, looking up at him with a plea in his eyes. 

“No, no hospital. Look, I just want to get some sleep man, I’m tired.” 

As he moves though his face suddenly goes very pale, and he leans over with his head between his knees, breathing slowly in and out through his nose. For a second Trent thinks he’s going to hurl right there on the carpet, but instead he spits some bloody phlegm out into the bowl. After a few seconds he slowly sits up again, one hand moving unconsciously to brace his ribs. Trent frowns.

“You hurt somewhere else?”

Clay shakes his head, dropping his arm back down.

“Nah, it’s nothing-Trent!”

Trent doesn’t listen though, reaching down and yanking the hem of Clay’s shirt up to expose his torso, brushing aside his grasping hands. All along his ribs there’s a vivid purple-blue mottling of bruises, Trent can pick out the faint imprint of boot treads in some of the darker spots. For the first time tonight he feels anger start to grow in his stomach because getting in a bar fight is one thing, but this. This was something else. This was a beating. 

Immediately he’s back down on his knees, manhandling Clay into submission he follows the bruises around his side and onto his back. None of them look dark enough to signal any internal bleeding, but there’s still time for it to develop. 

“Alright, hospital, now. And you can tell me who the fuck did this on the way.”

Clay just shakes his head stubbornly though, jaw set. 

“I’m not going to the hospital, Trent. I’m fine-” Trent raises an eyebrow and Clay winces, amends his statement. “-okay, maybe not fine, but I’m not on the verge of death. We’d just be stuck there waiting forever. Please, Trent.”

Trent sighs, runs a hand through his hair. Clay has a point. He could take him to the base infirmary, but that could raise questions and he doesn’t want to get Clay in trouble. 

“Alright, alright. Fine. No hospital for now, but you’re spending the night here, and if I see any sign you’re getting worse it’s straight to the ER. Deal?”

Clay nods, pulling his shirt down as Trent sits back. 

“Yeah, deal.” 

“Here, clean yourself up.” Trent says, pulling out a sterile wipe and handing it to Clay. “You should take a couple of Tylenol, for the hangover and the face. I’ll get you some water.”

Clay takes the wipe with a quiet thank you, starting to gingerly dab at the drying blood under his nose. Trent heads to the kitchen and pulls a glass out of his cupboard, filling it from the sink. He watches Clay out of the corner of his eye as he does. If Clay’s aware he’s being watched he doesn’t it show, quietly working at the worst of the gore on his face. Trent sighs, trying to put aside the concern and anger and focusing on what he can do for Clay right now. It’s not easy. 

Heading back he drops down onto the couch beside Clay, handing him the glass and two pills. He’s managed to get most of the blood off, and he looks a little bit less like a bad Halloween costume now. Clay takes the painkillers, popping them into his mouth and taking a swig of water as he swallows.

“So.” Trent says, “You want to tell me what happened?”

Clay shrugs, sets the cup down on the side table. 

“Got jumped.”

Trent snorts. 

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. I’m more wondering _why_ someone wanted to play whack-a-mole with your face.”

Clay sighs, leaning back against the couch cushions, bracing on hand on his side. 

“I decided to go out on my own, went to some crappy bar downtown. There were a couple of other Navy guys there. Guess they recognized me, thought I’d been the one leaking mission details to Ash and figured they’d teach me a lesson. I should have been able to take them but I was too messed up. Stupid.”

Clay’s voice is faintly bitter at the end, like he’s pissed off at himself. Trent barely hears it though, still stuck on the first half. Navy guys, plural, did this too Clay. Trent doesn’t get mad easy, he leaves that to the more hotheaded members of Bravo, but he’s angry now, feelings he tried to push aside earlier bubbling back to the surface. The work they do is dangerous, as a medic he knows that more intimately then most. He’s seen the physical trauma of their job visited on most of his friends at one time or another, and he’s had to come to terms with that to keep from buckling under the weight of it. But they shouldn’t be in danger here, at home, and especially not from the people who are supposed to have their backs. 

“How many.”

He asks, voice tight. Clay shrugs one shouldered, eyes already starting to drift shut.

“Three, maybe four. I don’t know, it was dark and I was drunk. Hard to tell.” 

Trent takes a deep breath, resists the urge to walk right out of his apartment and hunt the assholes down himself. It’s irrational, and won’t do Clay or himself any good.

“Okay. Okay. I’m going to call Jason-”

Clay’s eyes fly open and he starts to sit up again, shaking his head emphatically.

“It’s like two in the morning, don’t call him okay I don’t want to turn this into a whole thing.”

Trent just stares at him, uncomprehending. 

“Clay,” He says slowly, “This is serious. We can’t keep this from him, he might have to get Blackburn involved.”

Clay winces, like the thought pains him. 

“I know…but I’m exhausted and my head hurts like a bitch and I’m not really up for getting chewed out right now, okay? So can we please at least just…wait a little?”

He sounds pained and exhausted and very small, and Trent sighs, patting Clay on the knee. 

“Okay. Get some rest. But we’re calling Jason in the morning, no arguments.”

Clay nods, laying back on the couch. Lets Trent position the bowl by his head and throw a blanket over him. 

“Thanks, Trent.”

He says, quietly, earnestly, as Trent flicks the lights off again. Trent just smiles a little, even though it’s too dark for Clay to see it. 

“Yeah, no problem kid.”

There’s a long pause and when Clay speaks again his voice is half caught between sheepish and amused, and Trent braces himself for whatever’s coming next. 

“Also, I might have thrown up in your bathtub.”


	2. Chapter Two

Trent wakes up the next morning to the sound of birds outside his window. For a second he just lies there sleepily, enjoying the sun streaming through his bedroom window and the warmth of the covers, but then last night’s events rush back in and all thoughts of relaxing in bed disappear. Swinging his legs out from under his comforter he stands, shivering a little as cold morning air hits his bare skin. He snags a t-shirt and jeans off the floor from last night and pulls them on before heading out to the living room to check on Clay. 

He’s still sleeping, head cradled in his arms and blanket tangled around his legs. There’s no puke in the bowl Trent had left next to him last night, which is a good sign. He knows Clay is going to feel like absolute garbage once he wakes up, so he lets him sleep in a little longer. Taking care to be quiet he makes himself a quick breakfast, setting aside a piece of toast for Clay. He doubts his stomach will be up for anything stronger.

He’s just putting his dishes away when he hears a loud groan from Clay’s direction. Wiping his hands off he walks over, leaning against the countertop and folding his arms across his chest as he watches Clay slowly start to sit up, moving very slowly. Trent understands, all those bruises are probably starting to seize up right about now, and his ribs can’t be helping either. 

“How are you feeling?”

He asks as Clay swings his legs off of the couch. Clay winces, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. 

“Like I got hit with a truck.” 

He says, voice a little dry. Trent winces in sympathy, he knows the feeling. Between the beat down and the hangover Clay’s probably feeling like grade-A shit right now.

“You, uh, you let Jason know yet?”

He continues, voice tentative. Trent shakes his head. Clay nods slowly, looks down at his hands. 

“Any chance I can convince you not to?”

Trent shakes his head again, snorts. 

“No. And even if I didn’t, what were you going to tell the rest of the guys about your face? Just dab a little concealer on that and pretend it never happened?”

Clay grimaces. 

“Yeah. Guess you’re right. Still, figured it was worth a try.” 

Trent sighs, pats Clay on the back. 

“Look, I’m gonna call him. Why don’t you go take a shower, get cleaned up a bit. You smell like shitty tequila.”

Clay grabs the collar of his shirt, bringing it up to his nose and sniffing, before wincing, letting a long breath whistle out between his teeth. 

“Oh god, I smell like the floor at the champagne room after Sonny’s been on an all-nighter.” 

Trent manages a laugh, and Clay pushes himself up gingerly from the couch looking a little nauseous. Once Clay disappears into the bathroom Trent pulls his phone out of his pocket, looks at it for a while. He’s not particularly excited to make this phone call if he’s honest. Jason’s going to be livid. Steeling himself he pulls up Jason’s number, hits dial. It rings twice before he picks up, sounding grumpy and hung over. 

“Trent, this better be good.”

“I know it’s early, sorry boss. But it’s important. It’s uh, it’s Clay.”

Immediately the air on the other end of the phone tenses, and when Jason responds there’s no trace of irritation in his voice. 

“What is it? He okay?”

“Sort of. Look, I came home last night, found him passed out on my couch. He was roughed up pretty bad.”

“Hospital bad?”

Jason asks, voice tight. Trent can hear the rustle of pants being pulled on in the background, the jingle of a belt buckle. 

“No, I looked him over. He’s got a pretty mild concussion and he’s bruised all to hell but he’ll live. Figured he’d hurt himself more trying to fight me on bringing him so I left it. Jason- he said it was other servicemen that did it, Navy guys.”

There’s a heavy weighted pause. 

“I’m on my way over. Tell Brock and Sonny to get their asses out of bed, I’ll pick up Ray on the way.”

He hangs up before Trent has a chance to respond. Sighing Trent shoots a text to Brock and Sonny, says to come over ASAP but keeps the reason why vague. It’s not his story to tell. They both confirm they’re on the way in a few minutes, and Sonny’s reply is sprinkled liberally with expletives. 

Jason and Ray are the first to arrive, Jason rapping on the door sharply in a way that is distinctly Jason. Clay’s out of the shower by now, sitting on the couch with his hair still damp. They exchange a look as Trent walks over and lets them in. Ray lets out a low whistle as they steps into the apartment, eyebrows migrating towards his hairline. 

“Damn brother, someone really did a number on you.” 

Trent doesn’t blame Ray for the reaction. In the light of day with the blood and grime cleared off the full extent of the damage is glaringly obvious. Clay just lifts a shoulder noncommittally though. 

“Looks worse then it is.” 

He mumbles, looking to the ground. Trent rolls his eyes, looks worse then it is my ass. Like he wasn’t about ready to drag Clay’s stubborn idiot self to the hospital last night. Jason seems like he’s gearing up to say something, he’s got that look on his face that means he’s been working up a good lecture, but he’s interrupted by another knock on the door. Sonny lets himself in a second later, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. 

“Alright, so anyone want to tell my why I had to drag myself out of bed at too damn early in the morning-” He cuts off though when his gaze land on Clay’s face, expression changing from one of mild irritation to serious in a second. “What the hell happened?”

He asks, sounding ready to knock heads together. Ray turns to Jason and Trent as well, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Yeah, you gonna tell us why we’re all here Jase?” 

Jason just shrugs, looking past them to where Clay’s still sitting on the couch. 

“You know what, I’d love to know the answer to that question too. Why don’t you tell us, Clay?”

Clay sighs, looking very tired and too pale under the vivid bruising. 

“Look, can we just wait till get Brock gets here? I don’t want to have to keep repeating myself…” 

Jason nods shortly, taking up a position leaning against the half-wall that separates Trent’s kitchen from his living room area. The next few minutes pass in tense silence, Clay leaning back in the couch and closing his eyes. Sonny paces back and forth in the small space, eyes flicking back to Clay’s face every few seconds, gnawing viciously on a toothpick. Trent’s grateful when the last knock finally sounds on his door, and Ray reaches over to pull it open for Brock. He looks around the room, apparently reading the charged atmosphere. His eyes linger on the bruises on Clay’s face, lips tugging faintly downward, but he doesn’t offer any commentary. 

“Alright, everyone’s here, want to tell us why you look like you just went five for five with fuckin’ Rocky?”

Sonny asks impatiently, almost before the door even swings shut behind Brock.   
Clay looks down, fingers tightly interlaced. Huffs out a breath of air like he’s preparing himself, before finally beginning. 

“I was still pissed off about what happened in Yemen, so I decided to go out. Got too drunk. Some guys jumped me as soon as I left, so they must have followed me out of the bar. I didn’t really get a good look at any of ‘em, but, uh, they were Navy.”

There’s a tangible shift in the mood as soon as he finishes, everyone trying to process what he just said. There’s an audible snap as the toothpick in Sonny’s mouth splinters. 

“Fucking Navy guys did this to you?”

Sonny grinds out, incredulity and fury warring in his voice. 

“How’d you know they were in the service?”

Ray asks, not unkindly. Clay shrugs uncomfortably, doesn’t look at him. 

“They talked a bunch of shit about my dad, about his new book. How I must be the one leaking info about the classified missions to him. Wanted to teach me a lesson I guess.” 

Everyone falls quiet, and Trent feels the anger from last night brewing in his stomach again, sees it in the rest of the teams face when he glances around at them. Clay finally looks up then, eyes wide and painfully uncertain at the silence. 

“It isn’t me, guys, I swear to god I’d never do that.”

Jason reaches out, puts a hand on Clay’s shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, take a breath. We know it’s not you.”

“You recognize any of the bastards?”

Ray cuts in, sounding furious under a thin veneer of control. Clay just shakes his head though, looking back down. He seems embarrassed by the attention, cheeks flushing a little. 

“No.”

“Clay, are you sure? I mean anything, a voice, a tattoo, a name, anything.” 

Jason presses. Clay just shakes his head again though, tensing a little. 

“I said I didn’t, Jesus. It was dark, and I was drunk. The first guy hit me from behind, and once I was on the ground I couldn’t see anything. They didn’t use names. I know it was stupid, alright, so can we just get the lecture over with and move on?”

“Move on? Some assholes in uniform beat the crap out of one of my guys over some bullshit accusations and you want me to let it go? Not a damn chance, Clay.”

Jason retorts, voice rising. Clay winces, pressing a hand to his head like it’s bothering him. His colors gotten worse, and he’s starting to look a little nauseous again. Trent chooses this moment to step in, shifting himself in between Clay and Jason. 

“Hey, lets give him a break for a second okay. He’s still got a concussion and you yelling isn’t going to help him. Brock, could you grab the Tylenol from the first aid kit? ”

Brock nods, disappearing to the hallway to grab the kit. Jason takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair and stepping back a little. 

“Yeah, okay, fine. But this conversation isn’t done, got it?”

He says, pointing at Clay. Clay gives a small nod, eyes closed again. Brock reappears, holding the bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water, and handing it to Clay. His eyebrows are wrinkled with sympathy, and he gives Clay’s shoulder a squeeze as Clay downs the painkillers. 

“Alright, come on, let’s give him some room.” 

Trent suggests, herding the team towards the kitchen. They follow him reluctantly, crowding into the small space. 

“Tell me we’re hunting these assholes down, Jase, come on.”

Sonny nearly pleads, all fire and brimstone and anger he doesn’t know what to do with. Trent thinks of the blue black bruises along Clay’s ribs, about the boot treads imprinted into his skin, and feels inclined to agree with the sentiment. Jason just shakes his head though, 

“I know we all want to go after these guys, but that’s not the best way to help Clay right now.” 

Jason says, although he doesn’t sound particularly like he’s itching to make peace when he says it. 

“You thinking about getting Blackburn involved?”

Ray asks, glancing carefully at Sonny who’s still fuming audibly in the corner. Jason sighs, nods. 

“I mean, if we track these assoles down and put them in their place it feels good, yeah, but long run? Doesn’t change anything. You know if they’re talking like this about Clay they’re not the only ones, and us closing ranks just makes it seem like he’s guilty. We take this to Blackburn, he can go after them though official channels. Make it clear publically you don’t fuck with other service members over unfounded rumors.” 

“Clay’s not going to want to bring attention to this.”

Brock offers quietly, tone even. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not up to him. When it comes to my team members safety it’s not a goddamn choice.” 

Jason snaps, not angry at Brock, or Clay, or anyone here. But still angry. Everyone falls silent then, even Sonny. 

“You guys done talking about me in there? Cause I’m done pretending I can’t hear you.” 

Clay calls after a second of that uncomfortable silence, and Trent can’t help but smile a little, shaking his head. Kid’s a brat. Jason looks around to each of them carefully, then calls back. 

“Yeah, we’re done.” 

They rejoin Clay in the living room, taking seats on the available furniture. Jason stays standing though, folding his arms across his chest. 

“We’re going to take this to Blackburn. He might have to get NCIS involved.”

Jason says, in a tone the brooks no argument. Clay shifts uncomfortably, picks at a loose thread in the couch.

“Do we have to?”

“Yes. A servicemen attacking another member of the navy is serious Clay, it could have been a lot worse. You really want these guys just walking around?”

Clay sighs, then nods, pausing his attempt to completely shred Trent’s furniture, and folding his hands in his lap. 

“Okay. Fine.” 

Trent’s a little surprised he didn’t fight harder, but honestly maybe he’s just too tired. Or maybe he sees the sense in what Jason’s saying. Either way he doesn’t push the issue. Jason nods, forges ahead. 

“Okay, ground rules: you cooperate fully and completely with NCIS if Blackburn decides to bring them in, you check in with Trent regularly and sit out of spin-ups till he gives you the all clear, and no more going out alone anymore, got it?”

Clay looks up at Jason incredulously. 

“Oh come on, are you serious right now? I don’t need a- a babysitter twenty-four seven.” 

Jason gives him a look. 

“Yeah, well, the fact that we’re all here in Trent’s living room at way to goddamn early in the morning proves otherwise.” 

“Yeah, this ain’t how I like my wake up calls to go.” 

Sonny adds, teasing, from where he’s sitting in Trent’s favorite arm chair, feet up on the coffee table. Trent rolls his eyes, reaches over to shove Sonny’s legs off. 

“You don’t like wake up calls period, Sonny.” 

Clay teases, grinning, and Sonny gives him a sour face. Trent sits back as they start to bicker lightly. What happened last night shouldn’t have happened, but at the end of the day Clay’s safe, and he’s got his brothers behind them to make sure it never happens again. He’ll be fine.


	3. Chapter Three

After that night things start return to normal. Clay’s bruises heal and his concussion fades and he’s back on full duty in barely a week. Blackburn does bring NCIS on the case, and a few agents come by the base and ask Clay a few questions, say they’ll look into it. They haven’t come back with anything since then however, and the investigation seems to be stalling. It bothers all of them, of course it does, but there’s also not much they can do but wait. And there are other things to keep them busy, trainings and briefings and ops to run. Despite how it obviously chafes at him, Clay obeys Jason’s orders, doesn’t go out without company again. 

And, slowly, it starts to fade into the background of all their lives. Clay seems perfectly content to let it die, shifting uncomfortably whenever anyone mentions what happened. Still Trent can’t quite bring himself to let it go, not when he remembers the bruises on Clay’s ribs, not when he when he looks at the men and women walking around the base, working next to him every day, and has to wonder if maybe they were the ones who put them there. It’s an unsettling feeling, not being able to trust the people who you’re supposed to be able to trust with your life. It makes Trent sad and angry all at once. 

It happens when the bruises are nearly completely healed from Clay’s face, leaving behind only the faintest yellow-green traces along his cheekbone and around his left eye. When they can look at him and almost pretend nothing ever happened. They’re all in their cages, getting ready for the day, when there’s a short efficient knock on the door and a second later Blackburn’s stepping inside. His expression is grim, in a way Trent hasn’t seen very often, and he feels a tendril of anxiety start to work it’s way up his throat. Good things never follow when Blackburn looks like that. 

For a long moment he just stands in the entrance, hands locked behind him and face stiff, like he doesn’t want to say whatever he’s about to say. Blackburn’s a lot of things, but he’s not a coward, and he doesn’t shy away from difficult things. There’s a second where Trent’s heart falls to the pit of his stomach, because someone’s dead. Someone has to be dead for Blackburn to act like that. Finally he gathers himself, squaring his shoulders.

“A case has been opened against Clay, Title 18. He’s suspected of leaking classified intel and endangering the safety of U.S. Navy personnel and he’s suspended from active duty, effective immediately, pending further investigation.”

In the silence that follows Blackburn’s words you could hear a pin drop, and Trent’s mind races trying to catch up with what he just heard, trying to fit each word into a sentence that makes any sense at all. Sonny’s the first to break the silence, an incredulous laugh bubbling out of his lips that doesn’t sound funny at all. 

“Hold on a second, you wanna repeat that there, ‘cause I don’t think I heard you right.”

Blackburn sighs. 

“Sonny…”

He starts, but Sonny just barrels on, ignoring him.

“’Cause what I _think_ I just heard, is that the brass thinks Clay is spilling his guts to Spenser senior, huh. And we all know that’s some steaming hot _bullshit_.”

As soon as Sonny’s outbreak settles the silence devolves into too many voices clamoring over each other, everyone trying to pitch in their outrage, Blackburn trying unsuccessfully to reign them in. One voice is missing though, and Trent realizes Clay hasn’t said a word since Blackburn dropped the bomb. When he looks over at him Spenser’s white-faced, eyes blank and lips tight, utterly silent. He looks like he’s in shock, like the patients Trent have treated who are unable to comprehend what’s happened to their body. It’s almost worse this way. 

“They can’t just do this, they don’t have any proof!”

Brock is saying, sounding uncharacteristically agitated. Blackburn shakes his head,

“Unfortunately, they can.”

Sonny’s just launching into another tirade when Clay finally moves, carefully setting down the gear he was holding and turning to face them all.

“Guys, stop. Just stop”

Clay says, very quietly, but somehow it still cuts through the noise. Everyone falls silent, looking over at him. He’s still standing in his cage, back rigid. 

“It’s okay. We all know I didn’t do it, so let them investigate me. They won’t find anything.”

His voice is painfully light, like he’s trying to put a good face on for them.

“Clay…”

Ray starts, but Clay just shakes his head. 

“Look, there’s nothing we can do to fight this right now, and I don’t want the rest of the team getting in trouble for it. I-I should have expected something like this. It’s my fault for talking with him as much as I have, painted a target on my back.” 

Trent hates that, hates how Clay’s managed to twist this around so it’s his fault somehow. His fault that he got born with a shitty dad, his fault that he was human and reached out to him. His fault that people are so willing to expect the worst of him despite everything he’s done to prove otherwise. Trent knows a lot of things in life aren’t fair, and that sometimes good people die and bad people get away with terrible things and that there’s no particular order to the universe, but this grates. 

“Clay, right now it’s better if you don’t have any contact with the team. Too much talking could look like you’re trying to get your story straight.”

Blackburn says, woodenly, like he hates what he’s saying. Clay hesitates but nods. 

“I understand.”

Quickly he packs his stuff, the rest of them standing in a sort of horrified silence. When he’s done he slings his bag over his shoulder, heading for the door. Just before he steps out though he pauses, looks back at them, forces a slight smile. 

“See you guys on the other side, huh?”

And then he’s gone, just like that, and Trent is left with the sense that something irrevocable just happened. Almost as soon as the door swings shut Jason turns to Blackburn, face stony.

“Alright, you wanna tell me exactly what the hell is going on here and why one of my best guys just got benched?” 

Blackburn takes a deep breath, and only the tight lines at the edges of his mouth and eyes give away the fact that he’s pissed as hell, pissed as Trent’s seen him. 

“Apparently someone reported a concern to the higher ups, that Clay had been seen with Ash despite the fact that’s he’s PNG’d-”

“Aw come on, asshole or not he’s still his dad, not like he can avoid seeing him all the time!”

Sonny cries, indignant and furious. Blackburn nods. 

“Yes, but unfortunately most of the information that Ash has been spreading has been linked to missions Bravo’s run. It doesn’t look good, and there’s no one else they’re eyeing at the moment.”

Jason straightens, clapping his hands together, in the way he always does when he he’s found a solution for a problem, a way around the obstacle, and Trent hopes he has. Really, truly, hopes. 

“Alright, there we go. We just find the real leak, and then Clay’s cleared, easy.” 

Blackburn’s face doesn’t change though, lines of concern creasing deeper, and he takes a step forward. 

“Jason, listen to me, I know you want to help but you _cannot_ be involved in this investigation. That could get the rest of you caught up in this, and it only implicates him further, do you understand?”

Jason grimaces, teeth clenching tight as his jaw works, but he nods shortly. Unwillingly. Trent knows none of them care about their own skins right now, but the thought of trying to help and only making it worse is an unsettling one. Still, this feels wrong. Not talking to Clay, not even trying to help. It goes against all of his training, all of his instincts as Clay’s teammate, as his friend.

“Feels kinda like we’re abandoning him.” 

He says, giving voice to what he knows they’re all thinking right now. What they’re all feeling. You don’t leave a man behind, doesn’t matter if it’s on a mission or at home. Blackburn sighs, lets slip a tiny thread of his iron professionalism. 

“I know. I don’t like it either, but the best way to help Clay right now is just let the investigation run its course. That should be enough to clear him.”

“And if it isn’t?”

Ray asks. 

“If it isn’t, we’re looking at dishonorable discharge. Worst case scenario there might be prison time.” 

Blackburn’s response hangs heavy in the air. Prison time. 

“Well good thing that ain’t happening, right?”

Sonny says, cutting through the silence. 

“Yeah Sonny,” Jason says darkly, “Good thing it’s not happening.” 

Blackburn nods, takes a deep breath and letting it out, sounding tired. Trent sympathizes. It can’t be easy to be the bearer of bad news, and Blackburn’s caught in the unenviable position of being a midlevel officer. Taking shit from the brass and from an upset team, and having a duty to both. 

“Listen, I know none of us like this, I don’t either, but trust me, we’re doing the best thing we can for Clay right now. So just keep your heads on straight, hopefully this’ll all get sorted out soon and we can get Clay back on the team. Until then, _please_ , try not to do anything stupid. Do I make myself clear?”

Ray nods, and Jason follows after a hesitant second. 

“Yeah. Crystal.” 

With a last look, Blackburn excuses himself, leaving them alone finally. As soon as Blackburn’s out the door Jason spins. 

“Alright, okay, I’m gonna go talk to Harrington, I’m gonna figure this out.” 

He says, but there’s not the usual confidence in his voice Trent’s accustomed too. They’re prepared for pretty much every situation under the sun, every worst-case scenario, but somehow they aren’t prepared for this and now none of them are sure of the ground they stand on.

Jason’s in Harrington’s office for a long time, long enough to make Trent nervous. They all sit in the hallway outside, or pace anxiously in Sonny’s case, waiting for something. When Jason finally opens the door and steps out his face his stony. 

“What’d he say?”

Ray asks, popping quickly up out of his chair and stepping forward to meet him. Jason shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. 

“He uh, he said he’s on Clay’s side, but there’s not much he can do to fight this. Orders are coming from the top, guess Navy’s looking to make an _example_.” 

He spits the last word out like it’s a curse, face twisting in disgust. Ray shakes his head, turning away frown tugging at his lips. No one says anything. After a second Jason reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, sighs. 

“Okay, look, there’s nothing we can do right now. Let’s go home, get some sleep. We’ll regroup tomorrow, try to figure this out alright?”

Everyone nods, starts to disperse. Jason’s right, there isn’t anything they can do here. Still Trent goes home with a bad taste in his mouth and a lingering feeling of unease. It takes a long time for him to fall asleep that night. Every time he closes his eyes he sees flashes of Clay’s face, pale and silent and still, looking for all the world like a kid who’d just had the rug pulled out from under him. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on a short vacation and then I have completely pack up my apartment and move in like two days, so I probably won't post until July. But don't worry, I will be back! In the meantime I hope everyone's staying safe and enjoy!

They all handle Clay’s forced leave in different ways. Sonny’s pissed off, fuming and slamming things around, giving every person who looks at him wrong the stink eye. Brock gets quieter, Jason gets sharper around the edges, Ray does his best to hold them together, to be the voice of reason. Trent, well Trent handles it by keeping his head down and throwing himself into his work. Or at least he tries too. Clay’s his friend, and his teammate, but he’s lost teammates before, and not just to bullets or IED’s. He doesn’t know why he can’t process this, can’t pack it into a box and move forward. Maybe’s it’s because how wrong it feels. Clay’s whole life is the teams, and Trent honestly doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses that. Doesn’t want to think about. 

So they all soldier on, but everything feels wrong, a little off balance. Like they’re missing a limb. It’s worse almost, because it’s not like Clay is injured, or out of commission, and they’re just waiting for him to come back. He’s fine, he should be here. But he’s not. And they’re not even allowed to talk to him. Not even allowed to defend him. It’s fucked up, but there’s nothing they can do except wait. 

They’ve been assigned a replacement for the duration of the investigation, a guy off of green team. Sonny just about bites his head off the first day he rolls with them, making it painfully clear that he shouldn’t get too comfortable. Trent almost feels bad for him, it’s not his fault he got chosen, but he doesn’t really disagree with Sonny’s sentiment. This is temporary. He’s just glad they haven gotten spun up without Clay yet, because he thinks that would make the absence feel too real. 

There’s tension brewing around the base too, most of the guys on the teams know Clay and like him, know he would ever pull any shit like this. And even those who don’t like him that much respect him, know he’s put in the time and the work and the blood. But there’s a couple of detractors that disliked him from the start, because he was cocky, because he was good, maybe just because he was Ash Spenser’s kid. Whatever the reason, Clay’s suspension has only emboldened them, and gossip spreads through the base faster then a high school prom. More then a few times Trent’s walked into a room to see a group of guys whispering in a corner who shut up as soon as he’s in earshot. It makes his blood boil, and every time he has to remind himself that it doesn’t help Clay’s case to get himself written up. 

Unsurprisingly, things simmer over physically eventually, because they’re a bunch of alpha male, Type A personalities with too much muscle and not enough restraint. Surprisingly though it’s not Sonny, or even Jason who starts it.

They’re all at the mess hall, breaking for lunch when it happens. It’s been three and a half weeks since Clay enforced leave began, and everyone’s starting to feel the weight of it. Normally they’d mess around, make jokes, but right now nobody on the team feels in the mood. They keep their heads down and eat their food, not really talking to each other. It’s this silence that makes what’s being said at the next table over even more obvious. 

A couple of petty officers are sitting talking. Trent recognizes a few of them from around, but he’s certainly not friends with any of them. One of them, Gorman Trent thinks his name is, seems to be leading the conversation. 

“Looks like Spenser’s not coming back anytime soon,” he says, laughing through a mouthful of food. “Always knew he was going to get himself in trouble.”

Everyone stiffens a little, Sonny’s fingers clenching white knuckled around his fork. Jason reaches out, puts a hand on Sonny’s shoulder. To anyone else it might look like a friendly pat but Trent sees it for what is, a gesture of preemptive restraint. Trent feels his own muscles tense a little, and he takes a deep breath, shovels another forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Gorman keeps going, getting bolder as his friends laugh. Trent’s not sure if he doesn’t know or just doesn’t care that it’s Clay’s team sitting five feet away, but either way it’s a goddamn stupid move. 

“You know, if you ask me it’s a good thing he’s getting knocked down a peg or two. Guy always had a big head ‘cause of who his dad was, always thought he was better then us. Turns out he’s been selling us out to daddy this whole time, what an asshole.”

Out of nowhere Brock shoots to his feet, getting up from beside Trent so fast the table rattles. Trent looks up at his best friend in surprise, and a little concern. 

“You want to say that again?”

Brock says, voice low and dangerous, in the way he usually reserves for really bad people. Like terrorists, or assholes who kick dogs. The mess hall suddenly goes very, very quiet. Gorman glances over, almost a little startled, like he hadn’t expected anyone to call him on his bullshit. He recovers quickly though, face settling into an ugly smirk. 

“Yeah, sure, I said Clay Spenser’s an arrogant cocky asshole, and a traitor.”

A second before it happens Trent realizes what Brock’s going to do, but by the time he reaches out to grab him he’s already moving, leaping over the bench and lunging at Gorman. He gets in one solid blow across the jaw before Gorman’s buddies start to intervene. Trent and Ray catch up with him a second later, trying to pull him away. Gorman’s got his hands wrapped up in Brock’s collar though, and it takes a few moments to disentangle the two men. Long enough for a crowd to start to gather. 

“Get him out of here,” 

Jason hisses, shoving Brock in Trent’s direction, before turning back to Gorman. Brock just shakes off Trent’s hands though, quietly stalking out of the mess hall. With a last glance back at the gawking circle that’s formed around Gorman and the rest of Bravo Trent follows him. He finds Brock just outside in the hallway, sitting on the ground with his arms resting on his knees, head bowed. He doesn’t look angry now, just defeated. 

“Hey, what’s going on, man? That wasn’t like you.”

Trent says, sliding down the wall to take a seat next to Brock. His hair is still messy, collar stretched and warped from where Gorman had wrapped his fist in it. Brock doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes focused on his clenched fists, purple bruises already starting to show on the knuckles of his right hand. 

“You heard what he was saying about Clay.”

Brock says, still quiet, but not so dangerous anymore. Trent nods. 

“Yeah, it was wrong, and Gorman’s an asshole, but we can’t just punch every asshole in the face. All of us were pissed, but you’re the one who took a swing.”

Brock lets his head fall against the wall behind him, staring up at the ceiling. 

“I know. I just… it doesn’t feel right Trent, just cutting him out like this. I know it’s for the investigation but… it’s fucked up. I just can’t take listening to people who don’t know Clay talk about him behind his back like that anymore, right in front of us too. Like it doesn’t matter.”

Brock’s words cut deep, because they’re true. All of it is true, and Trent knows that. And he knows the rules are there for a reason, but he’s starting to wonder how much more of this he can take. Brock sighs, rubbing his hands down his face. 

“I texted him the other day. I know we aren’t supposed to but I was worried, you know, it’s been almost a month. He- he didn’t reply, Trent. Nothing.”

He’s right, he wasn’t supposed to, Blackburn had been explicit about having no contact with Clay. But Trent also knows every single one of them has thought about it, Brock’s just the only one with the guts to follow through. Either Clay didn’t respond to protect them or… Trent doesn’t want to think about the other reasons Clay might not text back. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Trent says, trying to sound confident. “Probably just trying to keep his head down, y’know?”

Brock nods, then winces, glancing back to the doors to the mess. 

“How much trouble do you think I’m in?”

Trent makes himself smile, shaking his head. 

“None, if Sonny has anything to say about it. If you hadn’t gone after him he probably would’ve. Anyways, everyone heard Gorman was talking shit. Jase’ll smooth things over.” 

The tension in Brock’s face loosens a little, and he manages a slight smile. Trent smiles back, pushing himself to his feet and reaching out a hand to help Brock up. Brock takes it, letting Trent pull him to his feet.

“Alright, no more dramatics out of you, huh? Clay and Sonny are supposed to be our resident drama queens.”

Trent says, clapping Brock on the back as they head back to the gear room. But even Brock laughs he feels his stomach twist uncomfortably. He pulls Jason aside after lunch, waiting till everybody else has left. 

“Hey, got a second?”

Jason nods,

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I was talking to Brock, he said he tried to reach out to Clay. Hasn’t heard back from him. Radio silence.”

Jason frowns, eyebrows furrowing. There are lines in his forehead that Trent’s pretty sure weren’t there a year ago, now carved permanently into the geography of his face. 

“That’s not like him.”

He says quietly, and Trent lets out a soft breath. 

“Yeah. Could be he’s just trying to protect us, but…” 

He trails off, letting his sentence end unfinished. Jason fills in the gaps though, and his eyebrows furrow further. 

“Look,” Jason says quietly, “Can you swing by his apartment after work, see how he’s doing?”

Trent nods, tries to press down the ugly feeling in his gut. 

“Yeah, of course.”

  
As soon as they’re done for the day Trent drives straight to Clay’s place. Clay’s car is still in the lot, he notes as he heads up the stairs. The odd sinking feeling in his gut is back, and it only grows when he raps on Clay’s door and gets no response. He tries again, louder this time, but again there’s no response. After the third knock Trent gives up, reaching up above the lintel where he knows Clay stashes his extra key and quietly unlocking the door. The first thing that strikes him when he steps inside Clay’s apartment is how dark it is. The lights are all off and the curtains are drawn, plunging the living room into darkness. The second thing is the smell, the air is stale and old, like no ones bothered to open a window in days. 

“Hey, Clay, you in here? It’s Trent.”

He calls as he reaches for the light switch and flips it on, but Clay doesn’t make any indication that he’s home. The light when it flickers on doesn’t reveal a pretty picture. The place looks trashed, old pizza boxes and take out containers littering the coffee table and couch, interspersed with a frankly alarming number of beer bottles. There’s a mostly empty bottle of tequila on the kitchen counter, cap off. Obviously Clay’s been on a bit of a bender. 

Picking his way through the mess Trent heads for the bedroom, checking to see if Clay’s just sleeping off a late night. A very very late night if he’s still passed out at five in the evening. Giving the door a light knock Trent pushes it open, calling Clay’s name again. He’s not inside though, passed out or otherwise, and the bed doesn’t look like it’s been slept in for a while. A sudden awful thought crosses Trent’s mind, and he walks to the hall closet, choppily yanking the door open and running his hands along the top shelf. His hand brushes against cool metal and he pulls down Clay’s gun, unloaded. Something unclenches in his chest a little bit, and he lets out a deep breath. Once he feels a little steadier he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, calling Jason.

“You talk to him?”

Jason asks as soon as he picks up, not bothering with a hello. 

“No, he’s not here.” Trent says bluntly, replacing the gun where he found it and shutting the closet door. “Jase, this place is trashed. He’s definitely been drinking, a lot from what I can see, and it doesn’t look like his bed’s been slept in for a couple days.” 

Jasons swears, low and hard, then pauses. There’s a long second of empty air, before he replies. 

“You, uh, you check for his off duty weapon.” 

“Yeah. Still here.” 

Trent replies, and hears the same relief in the huff of air that crackles over the line that he felt a minute ago. 

“Okay. Good, that’s good. Look, you should head home. I’ll try and see if I can get a hold of him somehow. Thanks for checking in.” 

Trent ends the call, slipping his phone back into his pocket. Making his way out of the apartment he locks the door behind him, and sets the key back in it’s hiding spot. He feels unsettled and anxious, not at all comforted by what he just saw. He’s seen too many guys go down this path, drowning themselves at the bottom of a bottle, he’s almost been down that path. He doesn’t want to see it happen to Clay. He’s just about to leave when there’s the sound of a door opening from behind him, and he turns. Derek’s standing in the doorway of his apartment, gym bag slung over his shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t bother, he left an hour ago.”

He says, jerking his chin past Trent to Clay’s door. Trent nods slowly. 

“You, uh, you talked to him at all? How’s he seem?” 

Derek sighs, shakes his head. His lips are tight, eyes worried. 

“Not much. Doesn’t really want to talk to me I think.” He pauses, looks up and down the hall and draws closer, lowering his voice. “Look, I’m not the kind of guy to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but I like Clay. He’s a good kid, and I know whatever crap the brass is saying about him leaking shit isn’t true. To be straight with you? He’s not handling it well. Comes home late drunk off his ass, or doesn’t come home at all. He-he doesn’t look good, Trent.” 

Trent nods again, feeling his stomach flip. What Derek’s saying isn’t exactly surprising, given what he’d just seen inside Clay’s apartment, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t unnerving to hear. 

“Thanks for keeping an eye on him,” 

Trent says, meaning it too. Derek just smiles and shrugs though.

“Of course, we gotta look out for each other, right? I gotta run, but do me a favor, help him get his head on straight before he does something he can’t come back from.”

Trent watches him walk away and thinks that he just hopes they can find Clay before he can. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, back again! Thanks for your patience and hope everyone's doing well!

It’s been almost a week since Trent visited Clay’s apartment and still no one’s been able to get ahold of him, through text or otherwise. They’ve hit all his favorite spots, but it doesn’t look like he’s been going to his usual haunts and no one’s seen him hanging around. At this point, it seems pretty obvious that he’s actively avoiding them. There’s a small selfish part of Trent that wants to be hurt by it, but mostly he’s just worried. Whatever bullheaded self-sacrificial notion Clay is riding on, he sure wishes he would just quit it and talk to them.

Sighing he sets down the med bag he’d been repacking and rubs a hand down his face. He’s just thinking about hitting the gym, try and work off some of the excess tension he’s been carrying since this whole fiasco started when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out his pocket, vaguely hopeful that it might be Clay finally pulling his head out of his ass, but instead it’s Derek’s name that pops up on the screen. He frowns, unlocking his phone and scanning the text. 

_Know you’ve been looking for Clay. Friend of a friend said he’s seen him hanging at the beav a couple of nights, might be worth checking there._

Before Trent has a chance to respond Blackburn raps briefly on the open door, walking into the room.

“Listen up,” Blackburn says, as they all glance up at him. “Clay’s coming in today to speak to the brass. I know you’re going to want to fight me on this, but you can’t talk to him.” 

Sonny looks like he wants to protest but Jason holds up a hand and nods. His expression makes it obvious how little he likes the order, however. 

“Am I clear?”

Blackburn repeats, looking to each one of them and waiting for them to acknowledge the order. Reluctantly, one by one, they do. Blackburn sighs. 

“Good. With any luck this’ll be over soon, and we can all move on with our lives.”

The whole thing makes Trent sick, the fact that Clay is going to be right here in the same building as them and they can’t so much as say hi is ridiculous. It makes him angry. But he pushes it down and takes a deep breath, and turns back to his bag. Focuses on making sure each item is stocked and in it’s place.   
  
A couple of hours pass, and they all break for lunch, heading to the mess. Their path takes them through the administrative sector of the base, and Trent feels his tension ramp as they get closer. There’s a good chance Clay’s already come and gone, or his appointment isn’t till later, or that he’s still in with Harrington and the others. The chance they’ll run into him is low, but Trent still has this heavy feeling in his gut.

As it turns out, Trent should listen to his gut. They round the corner by Harrington’s office and there’s Clay, sitting outside the door in his dress blues, hat in his hands. It’s the first time any of them have seen him in a month. He looks…downtrodden, for lack of a better word. His hair is neat and his beard is shaved but there’s a blankness to his face that scares Trent. Even from a distance it’s easy to see the dark smudges under his eyes, the way his shoulders droop under some invisible weight. The medic in Trent, the one who’s job it is to fix people, to keep his team on their feet, protests. And so does the Trent who’s Clay’s friend. 

As they pause in the hallway Clay glances up from where he’s been drilling a hole in the floor between his feet, gaze landing on them. There’s a heartbreaking, fleeting second where his eyes light up, and something that could almost be a smile pulls at his lips. They all stand there at the end of the hall frozen in place, none of them sure of what do, none of them wanting to walk past but not knowing if they should stay either. In the end Clay’s the first to look away, gaze returning to the floor, and in the second before his hair obscures his face Trent sees what looks a lot like defeat in his expression.

“Come on,” Ray says quietly after a second, “We should go.”

Everyone follows slowly, uncertainly, leaving Clay behind to his fate. As soon as they round the corner Sonny lashes out, pounding a fist against the wall before spinning on his heel to glare at Jason. 

“ _Fuck_ what Blackburn said, _fuck_ the rules, that wasn’t right, Jase and you know it. He needed us, and we walked away. Like goddamn cowards.”

Sonny’s voice is sharp and vitriolic, Texas twang bleeding through even stronger like it always does when he’s upset. Jason doesn’t move to interrupt him though, just lets him keep going.

“Since when have any of us cared about our jobs over our brothers? We all know he’s innocent, but we’re just lettin’ the whole damn base talk shit about him like he’s some kinda traitor. It just-it ain’t right.” 

In the bottom of his stomach Trent agrees. He’s never seen Clay look like that before, that _empty_. Clay’s a lot of things, good and bad, but as long as Trent’s known him he’s always fought. Fought to make it through green team, fought to earn his place on Bravo, fought to earn the rest of the guy’s respect. He’s stubborn as hell and he doesn’t know when to quit, and sometimes that gets him in trouble but right now Trent would take that. The guy he saw sitting there in the hallway looked like he’d already given up, like there wasn’t any fight left in him. And that’s what scares Trent, more then anything else. 

The rest of the day passes by in a haze, none of them quite all the way there. Sonny’s even shorter then usual, mouthing off too Jason and Ray and anyone else who tries to talk to him. No one calls him out on it though, guilt sitting heavily on all their shoulders. Trent’s phone burns a hole in his pocket, and he can’t stop thinking about the text Derek sent him. If there’s ever a time for Clay to hit a seedy bar none of his friends go to, it’s today. He can’t stop Sonny’s words from running circles in his head either, _He needed us, and we walked away. Like goddamn cowards._ It’s true, they have been cowards. They walked away from Clay in every sense of the word, and that’s not what brothers are supposed to do. Maybe it’s time to stop. And Trent’s not a doctor, doesn’t have a fancy medical degree, but he lives by the same creed. Do no harm, when you can avoid it, and always seek to heal. But he thinks, maybe, sometimes by doing nothing you _are_ doing harm. 

So at the end of the day he pulls Jason aside again.   
  
“Listen,” he says quietly, “I talked to Derek the other day when I was checking out Clay’s place. He texted me, told me Clay’s been hanging out at The Beaver.” 

The Beaver is a dive bar all the way across town; most of the clientele is biker gangs and troublemakers. Not the friendliest place for a seaman. Jason’s brow furrows. 

“What the hell’s he doing hanging out there?”

Trent shrugs. He’s been wondering the same thing himself. 

“No idea. Figured you and I could drop by, see if we can catch him there?”

Jason nods, shutting the door to his cage with a bang, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

“Yeah, think that’s probably a good idea. Sonny’s right, we fucked up. Time to see if we can make it right.”

Jason pulls into spot in front of The Beaver and parks. It’s getting dark by now, and there’s already a couple of guys loitering out in front of the building smoking cigarettes underneath the glowing neon sigh. The pungent, bitter, scent wafts into the cab of Jason’s truck, even with the windows closed. Trent wrinkles his nose a little as they step outside, he’s never liked cigarettes. Mostly because as a medic he knows just in excruciating detail what they do to you. After he watched his dad slowly lose the battle with lung cancer he promised himself he’d never touch another one. It’s an ugly thing. Ignoring the glances they get he follows Jason into the bar, brushing the thought aside and focusing back on the moment.

Inside is dim and overly warm compared to the slight chill outside. It smells like cheap stale beer and sweat and the floor is slightly sticky under Trent’s boots. The bar isn’t too crowded yet, it’s still early on a Thursday, but there’s a few guys playing pool in the corner and a couple scattered around at tables. Trent does a quick scan of the room and easily spots a familiar messy blonde head of hair stationed at the far end of the bar. He nudges Jason, jerks his chin towards where Clay’s sitting slumped over a drink. 

“Jackpot,”

Jason says quietly as they start their approach. Trent lets Jason take the lead, falling in as backup if needed, keeping a careful eye on the other patrons. He doesn’t think anything’s likely to happen, but you can never be too careful. 

“You’re a hard man to have a conversation with.”

Jason calls as they get nearer. It says something about Clay’s situational awareness that he didn’t seem to realize they were coming, and he starts a little, looking over at them with surprise in his eyes. 

“What are you guys doing here?”

He asks, and there’s a faint slur to his words. If Trent had to guess the half empty whiskey in front of him is not his first of the night. 

“Looking for you.”

Jason replies bluntly. Clay shakes his head, torn between weariness and a sort of muted alarm. 

“You shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be talking to me. Could get you in trouble.”

Jason snorts, shaking his head and gesturing loosely around the room. 

“Yeah, like anyone here’s gonna snitch. And even if they were, to quote a certain Sonny Quinn, fuck the rules.” 

Clay just shakes his head though, throwing back his whiskey. From the end of the bar Trent clocks one of the bartenders pretending not to watch them. It’s a woman, more of a girl really, barely looks old enough to be working here. She’s pretty, in a tired worn sort of way, wearing make-up that makes her look much older then she is. When she notices Trent’s looking at her she glances away, busying herself organizing the liquor bottles behind the bar. 

“Look, I’m just dead weight, Jase, I’m done. Brass’s never liked me, and now they found a way to get rid of me. Told me as much today. It’s over for me, man” 

Clay’s saying when Trent looks back, setting his glass down heavily on the bar top with a thud that feels louder then it should. 

“What the hell are you even doing, drinking yourself into a coma in seedy bars is Sonny’s gig last time I checked not yours.”

Jason snipes, ignoring what Clay said and pushing a little, testing his walls. Clay doesn’t rise to the bait though, just takes another long sip. 

“Yeah, well, maybe Sonny has the right idea.”

He slurs, not looking at them, not looking at anything in particular. 

“So, what, that’s it? You’re just giving up then? Letting those assholes win?”

Jason pushes harder, trying to get a reaction out of him. It works this time, Clay sits up a little straighter, brows furrowing.

“ _Fuck you,_ I’m not giving up.” 

He snaps, a familiar light flaring up in his eyes. It leaves as quickly as it comes though, and he sinks back into his chair, deflating. 

“I’m not giving up.” He says again, quieter this time. “I’m just-I’m tired, man. I can’t fight a whole fucking institution. They wanted me out, I can’t stand up against that.” 

“Harrington’s on your side man, we’re on your side.”

Trent offers, the first thing he’s said to Clay in a month. Clay looks at him and smiles, but it’s sad and small and resigned. 

“I know that, and it means a lot, seriously. But it’s not enough. They’ve got me nailed to the wall, only way my name get’s cleared is if my dad comes clean, and there’s no way that’s ever going to fucking happen.” With that he pushes himself up, pulling a bill out of his wallet and throwing it down on the bar next to his now empty drink. “Please, don’t come looking for me anymore. It’s over for me, doesn’t have to be for you guys.”

Then he walks away, walks out of the bar, and Trent doesn’t know why but there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach. A feeling that that was their last chance, and they fucked it up somehow. Clay’s words, _it’s over for me_ , ring in his head. It seems so final. Like maybe he’s not just talking about his job. He shakes the thought off as soon as he thinks it though, because that’s not who Clay is. 

Jason turns to the older man behind the bar who’s spent the entire conversation trying to pretend he wasn’t listening. 

“Hey,” He calls, rapping his knuckles sharply against the bar top “I got a couple questions for you.” 

The man shrugs, inspects the glass he’s been polishing carefully. 

“Sorry, only got the time for _paying_ customers.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but starts to reach for his wallet. The woman Trent had clocked watching them earlier steps in suddenly, shaking her head in disgust.

“For Christ’s sake Jeff stop being an asshole and go make yourself useful, huh?”

Jeff pulls away, muttering something under his breath and disappearing into the backroom with a last baleful glance at them. Rolling her eyes she turns back to Jason and Trent. 

“Sorry about him, he’s a greedy motherfucker. You two friends with that blonde guy who just left?”

Jason exchanges a glance with Trent, nodding slowly.

“Yeah. You know him?”

She shrugs. 

“Wouldn’t say I know him, but I’ve served him a couple times. He’s a better customer then most of the guys in here, tips well, never gets grabby. He knocked the lights out of a guy who was being a little too handsy the other week.” 

Trent can’t help but snort at that. Sounds like Clay all right. 

“How often has he been coming in here?”

Jason asks. She winces a little, shaking her head. 

“Most days. Keeps to himself, drinks himself into a hole, then leaves. I try to make sure he doesn’t go too far, though. Called a cab for him a couple times, when Jeff had to peel him off the table.”

It’s not surprising, considering the way Clay’s apartment had looked and what Derek had said, but it still stings to hear. Jason nods, looking grim. Before they turn to go he takes a twenty out of his wallet, puts it down on the bar. 

“Thanks for looking out for him.”

He says quietly. She hesitates for a quick second before pale fingers dart out and take the bill, tucking it away as she nods shortly. They turn to go, but before they can get more then a few steps away she calls out after them.

“Hey, if you run into him again, tell him I don’t want to see him in here again.”

And the words could be harsh, but they’re not. It sounds more like a plea then a threat. Something softens in Trent at that, and he nods. 

“Yeah,” He says quietly. “Yeah, we’ll tell him.”

Then he turns, widening his stride to catch up with Jason who’s stalking towards the front door. He doesn’t look back when Trent catches up, just snaps over his shoulder. 

“Let the guys know, there’s someone we’re gonna have a chat with tomorrow.”

“Who?”

Trent asks, even though he already knows. When Jason replies his voice is dangerous. 

“Ash Spenser.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out too the actual bar named the beaver in my city, in which I have had many wonderful nights I don't remember. Why the floor is eternally sticky I really don't want to know...


	6. Chapter Six

They find Ash outside of a bookstore. He’s in town as part of his little press junket, doing a reading from his new book filled with lurid details and high security clearance secrets. Secrets people think he got from Clay. The team’s gathered out by the back door, and Trent leans against the wall as they wait, rough brick catching at his sleeves and scraping against the bare skin of his wrist. He’s not sure how he feels about this. There’s a part of him, the angry part of him, that’s eager for this confrontation. But there’s another part of him that’s hesitant. If he knows anything about Ash it’s that he’s arrogant and stubborn, and there’s a good chance this will blow up in their face. In the end though, it’s not like it matters. They don’t have any other choices. 

They don’t have to wait for long, after a few minutes Ash pushes the door open, spinning his car keys around his finger. There’s a self-satisfied smile on his face and he’s practically glowing with attention. It dims a little as he catches sight of them, eyes sweeping over each of their faces, ending on Jason’s. Immediately the atmosphere chills a little, and Trent can nearly feel Sonny’s muscles flexing next to him as Ash start to speak in an effort to hold himself back.

“Wow, didn’t know you boys liked my books that much, woulda saved you a signed copy”

Ash quips dryly, gaze lingering on Jason in a way that’s almost confrontational. 

“We’re here about Clay.”

Jason says, evenly, warningly. Ash snorts, shaking his head. 

“Oh, so he’s sending his team after me now? The balls on that kid…”

“He doesn’t know we’re here, and you better watch what you fuckin’ say.”

Sonny cuts in, tone openly aggressive, fingers curling at his side. Jason holds out a   
warning hand, takes a step towards Ash. 

“You hear about what’s going on?”

Jason asks. Ash shrugs noncommittally. 

“Yeah, heard the brass is investigating him on some trumped up charges of breach of clearance. Not that Clay ever told me anything about his work, clammed up whenever I tried to bring it up.”

“Wait, so you know what’s happening to him and you’re not doing anything?”

Brock says, voice caught between surprise and anger.

“What am I supposed to do? I’m not the most welcome figure around these parts, in case you’d forgotten.” 

Ash says dismissively, like it’s the perfect explanation. Trent feels his temper start to rise at Ash’s disturbingly blasé attitude to his own son’s plight. They way he acts like it’s not his problem.

“Look,” Jason snaps, trying to hide the frustration in his voice and only partially succeeding. “It’s simple. You give up the name of your source, and Clay gets cleared of all charges and we all go home happy. You really want to be responsible for ruining your son’s career, maybe even sending him to prison?”

Ash takes a second to respond, and to his (barest minimum) credit he actually has the gall to look conflicted for a moment. Eventually he sighs, dropping a little of the attitude. 

“I’m not happy that Clay’s gotten wrapped up in this either, but I can’t just expose my source, they trust me-”

“Oh, so you wanna talk about trust, huh?” Sonny cuts in, voice vitriolic, “Well then lets talk about how you betrayed your own goddamn kid’s trust then. Come on, you _used_ him, you tried to get him to give you fodder for your stupid fuckin’ books and when he wouldn’t you found someone else, let him take the fall. You had to know where the finger would point, and if you say you didn’t you’re either a liar or stupider then I thought.” 

Ash frowns, lips tugging down as any veneer of good humor falls away and he turns to glare at Sonny. 

“And who the fuck do you think you are, to judge my relationship with my son. Last time I checked, I was his father, not you. Things between Clay and I are…complicated-”

Sonny scoffs at that, shaking his head in disgust, but Ash just continues like he hadn’t even heard him. 

“But that’s our business, none of yours.”

“Yeah, well, I think it becomes our business when our _brother_ is taking the heat for your poor decisions.”

Trent spits the words out before he even quite realizes what he’s saying, fed up with the whole damn situation. Ash shifts his gaze to him, eyes carefully blank. 

“Clay’s a big kid now, playing with the big dogs. I can’t just drop everything to dig him out of whatever shit he’s stumbled into, can I.”

At that Sonny lets out an audible growl, moving towards Ash but Ray steps in front of him, putting a hand on his chest. 

“Come on, that asshole isn’t worth it. We’ll figure out another way to get Clay out of this.”

Ray says, voice soothing. Sonny hesitates for a second, like he’s weighing the pro’s in cons in his head, before backing down a little. He spits on the ground in front of Ash’s feet before turning and stalking away without another word. 

“You’re a real piece of work.”

Jason says, shaking his head before moving to follow Sonny. The rest of them fall into step behind him, leaving Ash alone in the parking lot. 

After the disastrous encounter with Ash they all meet up at the The Bulkhead, but none of them are really having a good time. It feels wrong, without Clay there. Emptier somehow. Sonny fumes silently over his whiskey, obviously still pissed off from earlier. Trent takes another sip of the now lukewarm beer he’s been nursing since they got here. Nobody’s said anything in a while, a heavy pervasive silence hovering around their table. Ray’s phone starts ringing and he slides it out of his pocket, Naima’s name is flashing on the screen. 

“Hey, sorry, I should take this. Be right back.”

He says, pushing himself up and walking a few feet off. Trent nods, tries to pay attention to whatever dumb story Sonny’s starting to tell. He keeps an eye on Ray in his peripheral vision though, more out of habit then anything else. It’s only because of that he notices when Ray’s shoulders suddenly stiffen, fingers tightening around the phone. He’s facing away from the rest of the group so Trent can’t see his expression but from his body language whatever news he just got isn’t good. After a few more moments he ends the call, slowly turning around to face them. 

“Guys, uh, that was Naima.” 

He says, quietly. The tone of his voice is enough to make everyone fall silent, Sonny cutting off in the middle of a sentence. 

“Is everything okay, did something happen to the kids?”

Jason asks, concern coloring his voice. Ray shakes his head, and Trent feels his stomach tighten, like he already knows where this is going. 

“No, no they’re fine. It’s uh,” He swallows, pauses, starts again. “Stella, uh, she just got off the phone with Stella.”

Trent frowns at the mention of Clay’s ex-girlfriend’s name. Last he’d heard of Stella she’d moved to California, and Clay hasn’t talked about her in a while. 

“What the hell did Stella have to say?”

Jason asks, curious and wary, echoing Trent’s confusion. Ray clears his throat again, fingers tight around his phone. 

“It’s-it’s Clay. He just got admitted to Sentara General. I guess he never got around to switching his emergency contact so the hospital called her when he was brought in. Only phone number she still had was Naima’s.”

There’s a fragile hush that hangs in the air, as everyone tries to process Ray’s words. Sonny’s the first to snap out of it. 

“What happened? Is-is it bad?”

He asks, voice a little unsteady. Trent’s mind is already running through a list of terrible things, car accident, bar fight, robbery gone wrong. Ray shakes his head again. 

“Don’t know, they wouldn’t tell her over the phone.” 

Jason pushes himself up from the table, chair clattering backwards, face set. 

“Come on,” he says sharply, “Who’s sober enough to drive.”

Once they get to the hospital it takes a few agonizing minutes for the nurses to send them to the right ward. When they arrive the doctor the nurse pointed out is standing in the hallway, arms crossed, talking to two cops. Jason strides over towards them, the rest of Bravo trailing behind. 

“Hey, you Clay Spenser’s doctor?”

He asks, voice sharp with stress. The doctor pauses, looking them over in confusion and a little suspicion. 

“May I ask who you are?”

Jason nods choppily, 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m Jason Hayes, I’m his team leader. Look, can you just tell me what happened?”

The doctor and the cops exchange a loaded glance, and Trent feels something ugly start to build in his chest as the pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place. 

“I’m sorry,” The doctor starts, tone carefully placating, “You’re not on his paperwork, unless you’re family or otherwise authorized I can’t give out his medical information-”

“Jesus Christ, can you just tell us if he’s okay or not?”

Sonny cuts in, clearly agitated, voice rough with worry. The doctor frowns, and the cops shift at his side, eyeing Sonny with a hint of alarm. 

“Listen, I understand you’re worried but I think you all need to take a breath. I can’t give out private medical information to strangers. If you can get a family member here or someone with authorization we can talk.” 

Jason grits his teeth, fingers twitching at his side, then takes a breath. 

“Look, I don’t know where his dad is, okay, or who’s on his paperwork. All I know is that my fucking teammate is in a hospital. Can somebody _please_ just tell me what the hell happened to him? Is he even alive?”

There’s a long tense second where no one speaks, and just before Sonny explodes the silence breaks. 

“Somebody found your guy in the bushes outside a bar downtown, he’d been beaten pretty badly and was nonresponsive, so they called an ambulance, hospital called us.”

The shorter officer says, waving off her partner when he starts to protest. Trent closes his eyes, takes a short breath that feels like glass in his throat. An image of Clay on his couch, bruised face pale, flashes in his mind like an omen. Like a neon sign he somehow managed to miss. 

“Wait, so you’re saying someone jumped him?”

Brock asks, sounding a little sick. She nods solemnly. 

“It looks like this was an attack.” 

Somebody curses loudly, and Jason runs a hand down his face, mouth drawn and tight. Trent doesn’t say anything, tongue heavy in his mouth. He feels cold even through his jacket and t-shirt, numb almost. They should have seen this coming, they should have looked out for him. And they didn’t. He didn’t. 

“How bad is it?”

Ray asks evenly, ever the voice of reason, and there’s only the faintest hint of a shake at the end of his voice that gives away the fear in the question. The doctor sighs.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I can’t just tell you, especially in a sensitive situation like this one.”

Sonny looks like he’s going to protest but speaks before he can, glaring at the doctor. 

“Alright, I’m calling in his CO, Christ.”

Jason’s phone call with Blackburn only lasts about a minute, when he hangs up his face is tense. 

“He’s on his way.”

He says shortly, fingers working at his side again like he needs something to fiddle with. They wait. After a few minutes the cops finish talking to the doctor and walk over to where they’ve clustered. 

“Look,” says the woman who’d spoken up earlier, exchanging a glance with her partner. “You know anybody who might have it in for your friend?”

Sonny snorts,

“Yeah, I can think of a few.”

He mumbles under his breath bitterly, chin tilting down. Trent suddenly feels like he needs to sit down. Jason sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. 

“Listen, this isn’t the first time this has happened. There’s already an open NCIS investigation, you’re gonna have to fight it out with them. Till then we can’t answer any questions.”

The cops back off after that, leaving behind their card and then there’s nothing to do but wait. It seems like forever but it’s probably only about fifteen minutes before Blackburn arrives. He takes one look at them, and heads straight for where the doctor had disappeared. Blackburn’s gone a long while and when he comes back his face is grim. Immediately Jason shoots up out of his chair. 

“What’s the damage?”

Blackburn takes a deep breath, lets it out in a weary huff. 

“Right cheekbone’s fractured, fractured ulna in the right arm, dislocated shoulder, three broken ribs, bruised kidney. Pretty severe concussion, looks like someone kicked him in the head.” Blackburn pauses, takes a breath, before finishing quietly. “It’s, uh, it’s not good. None of it’s good.”

Trent closes his eyes, breath skipping a beat. He can visualize each injury as Blackburn lists it, the surgeries and recovery times. A fractured ulna is a defensive injury, and a dislocated shoulder like that is probably from a restraint hold. They held him down and they beat him half to death and they discarded his body in the bushes like it was trash, like it wasn’t worth anything. All over something that wasn’t even true. There’s a loud clatter and Trent looks up to see Sonny pulling his fist back from a nearby vending machine which is still shaking a little from the impact.

“Jase we shoulda killed those guys when we had the goddamn chance.”

He spits, face white with fury, with guilt. Nobody has to ask who he’s talking about, nobody tries to pretend like it could have been anything else. 

“Sonny,” Ray starts, “We had to go through the proper channels.” 

But even he doesn’t sound confident in the truth of his words. Sonny scoffs, swinging his head angrily. 

“Yeah, that turned out real great for Clay didn’t it. What have those NCIS assholes been doing, sittin’ around holdin’ their dicks? Cause they sure as hell haven’t been workin’ on findin’ out who went after him.”

Jason doesn’t disagree with Sonny’s words, doesn’t say anything at all, and his face is grim. 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long to publish! I got busy and it was a tough one too write for some reason...Thanks for being patient!

“You can go see him, if you want.”

Blackburn says after an uncomfortably long moment. Sonny nods so quickly it looks like he damn near breaks his neck.

“Yeah,” he says, swiping angrily at his face. “Yeah I want to see him.” 

Blackburn nods, gestures with his chin behind him. 

“He’s just down the hall. Room 432.”

Slowly they get to their feet, follow Jason down the hall. Trent makes a point to reach out and put a hand on Blackburn’s shoulder as he passes by, whisper a quiet thank you. Blackburn gives him a strained smile. 

When they reach the room, Jason pushes open the door and they all file in one by on. As Clay comes into view Trent assesses the damage, trying to be impartial. He’s propped up against a pile of pillows, probably to support his ribs. His entire face is a mass of purple blue bruises; one of his eyes already swollen shut and his right cheek is distended from the fracture. His hospital gown is open around the neck to accommodate a sling that cradles his broken arm and there’s ice packed around his dislocated shoulder to help bring down the swelling. If Trent thought he looked bad that night on his couch he looks a hundred times worse now. He’s seen Clay through tighter scrapes, seen more gruesome injuries on most of his teammates, but there’s an intention here that makes him sick to his stomach. An intimacy that’s somehow worse then a bullet wound or frag injury.

Clay’s eyes flutter open as they gather around his bed, skittering from face to face with wide uncertain eyes. Trent remembers that this is the first time he’s really seen some of them for a month. No one says anything, a heavy guilty silence settling in the room. Clay licks his lips, shifts a little like he’s gathering himself. 

“Sorry,” He rasps, sounding ashamed. Sounding like this is somehow his fault. “Didn’t mean…didn’t mean for all this to happen.”

“Clay…”

Jason starts, voice strangled, but he doesn’t finish his sentence, letting it trail off into nothing like he’s not sure what to do. He sounds so uncertain, more uncertain then Trent’s heard from Jason in a while. Clay’s eyes drift shut before anyone else can say anything though, as he slips back under the surface of the drugs. Trent doesn’t realize he’s gripping the bed rail with white knuckles till he feels the plastic starts to warp and creak in his fists. 

“Shit.”

Ray says, quietly but with feeling, and Trent thinks that pretty much sums up the situation. 

They wait. Clay’s still pretty out of it from the sedation, and not ready to do much more then doze. The cops keep eyeing them like they want to talk to them, but they’re stuck waiting until NCIS shows up. It leaves a lot of time to think. And Trent does, thinks about all the ways this could have been worse. Seeing Clay’s injuries up close drives home just how bad it was, how if that kick to the head had been a little bit harder or if that passerby hadn’t stumbled across him and called 911… Clay could have died, right here under their noses. At home, where he’s supposed to be safe, he could have died. 

Trent considers himself a practical man. He’s not one for religion like Ray, and he certainly doesn’t have a head for literature or philosophy like Clay. Instead he makes do with the tools that he has in the moment that he has them. He likes things that make sense, things that have answers. He knows how to apply a tourniquet, how to treat a concussion, how to keep people alive. He knows how to identify a AT4 rocket launcher from thirty meters away and the best way to reload an HKM16 in a combat situation and how long it takes for a person to bleed out from their femoral artery. These are the things that make sense to him. 

This doesn’t make any sense at all, not Clay in a hospital bed, not the ugly truth that the ones who put him there are probably servicemen, not the fact that they’ve barely talked to Clay for a month because he’s being investigated for leaking classified information. Trent feels himself start to flounder under the weight of it, all the things that don’t make sense. He doesn’t know how to fit it into his world, doesn’t know how to pack it away. He doesn’t think any of them do, really. It feels a little bit like after Alana died. They all know how to react to a buddy going down in the line of duty, but what do you do when the threat is closer to home?

Jason sends Sonny on a walk to get his head on straight after he nearly gets in a fistfight with one of the NCIS guys when they finally show up, and Brock runs to the cafeteria to get coffee for them all so Ray, Jason, and Trent are left to pace anxiously outside of Clay’s room. After a long period of silence Jason looks like he’s going to say something but his voice dies in his throat before he even starts. When Trent looks over to see what happened Jason’s staring down the hallway at someone, face stony. Turning he follows his gaze and sees Ash Spenser walking towards them. Immediately Ray shoots up from where he’s sitting, stepping towards Jason like he can smell the trouble brewing in the air. Trent moves to Jason’s other side, closing ranks around the door to Clay’s room. Ash pauses in front of them, folding his arms across his chest. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Jason asks, voice dangerously low. Ash doesn’t back down though, jaw set. 

“I’m visiting my son, which last time I checked wasn’t illegal.”

“Listen, I think it’s a good idea for you to turn around and walk away right now.”

Ray orders, shifting himself subtly in between Jason and Ash. Trent’s just glad Sonny’s not here right now or they’d have a full on fight on their hands. Ash huffs in irritation, swinging his head back and forth. 

“Look, I understand you’re feeling protective and all that right now, but I have a right.”

He says, almost dismissively. Jason just snorts, 

“Yeah, you gave up that goddamn right when you threw him to the wolves. Get out. He doesn’t need you right now, making things worse.”

Ash’s expression darkens, arm’s falling to his side.

“I’m his father, you can’t stop me from seeing him,”

He growls, face red and blotchy with anger now, the mask of impassivity sloughing off like a snake’s skin. And somehow that’s what sets Trent off, the way he claims that title like it means anything, _father_. Like he was ever Clay’s father when he needed him. 

“Do you understand you’re the reason Clay’s in that hospital bed right now?” He snaps, anger flaring sharp and bright in his chest. “The guys that attacked him did it because they thought he was leaking secrets to you.”

Ash closes his mouth abruptly, looking a little shocked at Trent’s outburst. Ray seems surprised too, eyebrows creeping up his forehead. Trent ignores it all, vision tunneling as he barrels on. 

“If you could’ve just fucking given up the name of your source then we wouldn’t be here right now, but you didn’t, for the fame or the money or your goddamn reputation, I don’t know and I don’t give a shit. So don’t come here talking about how you’re his dad, if you gave a crap about your son at all you would’ve given up that name as soon as Clay got tagged for it.” 

Ash doesn’t say anything, looking a little like Trent slapped him across the face. Trent takes a deep breath, stumbling back a little as he tries to regain his center of balance, to find the calm he normally holds on to. After a second Ray steps forward, folding his arms across his chest. When he speaks again it’s quiet but tense. 

“Look, we’ll let you know if his condition changes. But you should go. Now.” 

Ash hesitates for a second, like he’s deciding if it’s worth the fight or not, then nods, face falling subtly. He turns around and walks away without another word, and somehow that’s even worse then if he stayed. 

“Asshole,”

Ray mutters under his breath as he turns away, shaking his head in disgust. With a last glance at Ash’s retreating figure and a twist in his stomach Trent follows him. 

When Clay finally comes around enough to hold a conversation NCIS gets first crack at him, which riles all of them, especially Sonny. Jason has to threaten to send him home to get him to calm down. The agents are in Clay’s room for about half an hour, while they’re left to wait anxiously outside for them to finish. 

As soon as the door opens Sonny’s shoving past them, fixing them with a dirty glare on the way in. 

“Hey there GQ, how you feeling? They got you on those good drugs?”

He asks, once they’re all inside. Clay glances up, smiling a little wanly. He looks exhausted, pale and drawn under the bruises. 

“Yeah. Could be worse.” He pauses, looking around at all of them as his forehead wrinkles in concern. “Should you guys all be here?”

He says the words carefully, gingerly, like talking hurts. It probably does. Trent swallows hard against a lump in his throat. They failed Clay. Really failed him. And he’s not sure how they’re going to make that up. 

“Hey, man, don’t-don’t worry about that right now.”

Ray says, reaching out a hand and patting Clay’s leg. Suddenly the room feels suffocating, and Trent pushes himself back from where he was leaning against the wall. 

“I’m gonna go find your doctor. See about moving to outpatient.” 

He forces out, nearly running for the door. He hears Brock call his name behind him and pretends he doesn’t. Once he gets out of the room he walks down the hall, leans his head back against the wall and takes a deep breath. This isn’t like him. Trent is in control, always, even when the rest of the world isn’t. He has to be. The rest of the team depends on him always being in control, in their worst moments. And yet, somehow, he feels it slipping between his fingers. 

When he finally pulls himself together and comes back Clay is alone in the room. He glances around, taking a seat by his bed. 

“Where’d everyone go?”

He asks. Clay shifts his gaze carefully over towards him, blinks owlishly. 

“Nurses kicked them out, said they were tiring me out too much. Think Jason went to go track down the NCIS guys on my case.”

He explains a little slowly.

“Oh.” Trent says, awkwardly, clears his throat. “If you need some rest I can leave.” 

He doesn’t know why it feels like this, so stilted and unfamiliar. Like he’s talking to a stranger. He doesn’t like it. Clay just shakes his head slowly though. 

“No. It’s okay. Just… can we not talk about what happened? I know the rest of the guys are just worried, but I’m just… I’m tired of talking about it.”

He’s very quiet, and lying in that hospital bed he seems diminished somehow. Smaller then himself. Trent nods, and it feels like his throat is closing up. 

“Yeah, of course. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

Trent hesitates then, not sure if he should say this or not, but then decides that Clay deserves to know. There’s been enough secrets between them, there doesn’t need to be more. 

“Your dad tried to visit.”

He says, carefully. Clay winces, 

“I can guess how that went. Anybody try and punch him in the face?”

Trent lets out a soft chuckle, shakes his head. 

“Nah, luckily Sonny wasn’t in the building. Jase looked pretty close though.”

Clay’s lips twitch up a little at that, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He clears his throat, not quite looking at Trent. 

“He… he say anything?”

He tries to pass the question off as casual, but there’s a painfully hopeful note to it that’s colored with resignation. Like he knows he shouldn’t expect anything but can’t quite help himself not to. Trent’s stomach twist’s painfully. 

“Not really, no. He didn’t stick around long, our fault mostly.” And then, because that doesn’t feel like enough he adds, “I’m sorry.” 

Clay shrugs, looks at his hands. 

“It’s fine. Ash… well, he was never really good at being a parent.” For a second Trent think’s that’s all he’s going to get, but after a hesitant pause Clay continues. “Don’t think he knew what do with himself once I was born, didn’t fit into his plans I guess. He was gone all the time on deployment, and when he was home he stayed as far away from us as he could. It was rough on my mom, trying to raise me on her own. Don’t think she really knew how to be a parent either, but she tried her best.” 

“What did she do about it? Your dad being gone all the time like that?”

Trent asks, a little tentatively. Clay lets out a huff of laughter, smiling crookedly in a way that’s tinged with bittersweet. 

“She uh, she did heroin about it. OD’d when I was five, that was when my dad sent me to live with my grandparents in Liberia.” 

Trent doesn’t have the best relationship with his mother. If he’s honest, he doesn’t really have a relationship with his mother at all at the moment, not since his dad died. But he still loves her, and he knows that at the end of the day she loves him too. That if he needed her, really needed her, she’d be there. Clay’s never talked about his mother much, but when he had it had always been cool, detached in a way that suggested a deep pain. Now he sees why.

“Fuck, Clay, I’m sorry.”

Trent whispers. 

“It’s okay. It happened a long time ago. I don’t really remember that much about her anyway.” 

Clay murmurs, looking away uncomfortably. Trent doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure exactly what to say to be honest. There’s an apology, buried somewhere inside him, but he’s not sure how to put it into words. A few seconds pass, and Clay finally turns back to him, and under the bruises he just looks tired. 

“You know,” He says, so soft Trent barely hears it in the echoing emptiness of the hospital room “I really do think Ash loves me, in his own fucked up way. I just…I think he loves a lot of other things more.”

And he sounds achingly sad when he says it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting a little headcanon territory here with Trent's parents. I just thought the scene at the end of season two with Trent and his mother(?) was interesting and wanted to touch on it here.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I just disappeared for like two weeks! All the creativity and will to write just fled my body for no reason at all. Thanks again for your patience, and here's the final chapter! Hope you all enjoy and thanks for sticking with it! I will probably be back at some point to post a short epilogue.

The doctor wanted to keep an eye on Clay’s concussion so they’re having him stay the night for observation. He doesn’t seem thrilled about it, but concedes after some gentle nudging from Trent and Jason. Trent leaves the hospital with a certainty that he has to fix things. Has to fix this. And, the more he thinks about it the more he realizes there’s only one way to fix things. And it’s Ash. Ash has the name, and maybe more importantly, Ash is the answer to that aching hollow sadness in Clay’s voice. 

The next morning he gets up early, heads out to the hotel he knows Ash is staying in. He doesn’t tell anyone where he’s going, especially not Jason. They’d try to stop him, they wouldn’t understand why he needs to do this. They didn’t hear the way Clay sounded. They don’t know what Trent knows, now. 

He posts up outside of the front doors, ignoring the vaguely suspicious looks that people give him as they move in and out of the hotel, settling in to wait. As it turns out, he doesn’t have to wait long. Maybe twenty minutes or so after he arrives the door swings open and Ash walks out, squinting a little against the early morning light. Trent straightens, stepping forward into his path. As soon he catches sight of him Ash rolls his eyes. 

“Christ, you again, it’s like a dog with a fucking bone…What the hell do you want now? You got your buddies waiting around the corner somewhere?”

Trent takes a deep breath, trying to remind himself why he’s here.

“Look,” He says, holding up his hands in a gesture of reluctant good will. “It’s just me. I’m not here to fight with you, okay? Just want to talk.”

Ash eyes him a little suspiciously, but nods. 

“Okay. Fine.” He says, glancing down at his watch. “I got an interview in half an hour so better make it quick.” 

“It’s about Clay.”

Ash snorts, shaking his head.

“Yeah, no shit. If you’re here to try and get me to give up my source-”

Trent doesn’t let him finish, already sure he doesn’t want to hear whatever bullshit Ash is about to spout. He’s heard it before, and it didn’t convince him then either. 

“He doesn’t hate you.”

He says, almost sharp. Like it’s meant to hurt a little. Ash pauses then, face faltering for just a moment before the shutters close back in. He smiles, lips tugging up in a way that’s more cynical then anything else. 

“Yeah, right. Think we both know that isn’t true, kid can’t stand me.”

Trent shakes his head, stepping closer. 

“I don’t think he likes you that much, but I think he still loves you. Even after everything.” 

And he thinks about the bittersweet way Clay always says Ash’s name, thinks about the pain in his voice back at the hospital. Thinks about the way you don’t just stop caring about people, even when they don’t deserve it. After everything, Clay still loves Ash, still wants a father who acts like a father. And really, Trent can’t begrudge him that.

“He needs you, you know.”

Ash snorts. 

“He hasn’t needed me in a long time. Plus, weren’t you guys the ones who kicked me out when I tried to visit him? I think your exact words were ‘it’s your fault’ if I’m remembering correctly.” 

Trent winces a little, but doesn’t back down. 

“I’m serious, Ash. I’m not gonna lie, you’ve failed him pretty much every step of the way, and you can’t undo that. But right now he needs you to step up.”

“He’s not a kid anymore, I can’t protect him like one anymore.”

Ash says, but he doesn’t sound as sure of it as he did before. 

“No, he’s not a kid. But he’s still your son, if that means anything to you. Life isn’t a transaction, okay, _family_ isn’t a transaction. You just-sometimes you do things for people not because they’re going to do anything for you, but because it’s the right fucking thing to do. And I think, deep down somewhere, you know that. You have to know that.”

And it’s almost a plea. Ash stares at him for a long moment, then sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He suddenly looks very old, behind the white teeth and the too expensive watch on his wrist, shoulders sagging a little. In that moment Trent sees behind the bravado, behind all the posturing and the control and the pride, and sees a very lonely man. And for a second, he almost pities him too. 

“You think,” Ash asks, looking out across the busy street in front of them, “You think he’ll ever talk to me again after this?”

Trent shrugs. 

“I don’t know. Can’t say I’d blame him if he didn’t. But you do it anyways. That’s the point. You do it even if he never talks to you again, or if he does, or if he fucking spits on the ground you walk on, because that’s not the point. The point is it’s the right thing, the point is he’s your kid. And you make sacrifices for them.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and Trent’s about ready to give up when Ash speaks again. 

“Cordell. Garrett Cordell.”

He says, without looking at Trent. It’s not a name Trent recognizes, and he lets out a heavy breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It’s funny, he thinks, all this pain, all this trouble, all this blood, over a name. Just a name. 

“Thank you.”

He says, quietly, even though he’s not sure Ash really deserves it. Ash just laughs, a little hoarse, a little bitter. 

“Don’t thank me.” He replies, as he turns to leave. “Not yet.” 

Trent calls Jason as he gets back in his truck, not driving anywhere yet. 

“I know who’s been feeding Ash information.”

He says, and it should feel like a victory but it doesn’t. Jason doesn’t even ask how he found out, just tells him to hang up and call Blackburn right away. He does, dials the number almost without thinking. The conversation is short, Blackburn says he’ll pass it up the chain and let them know if it checks out as soon as he knows. Trent’s pretty sure it will, he likes to think he can clock when someone’s lying to him and in his gut he knows Ash wasn’t. Somehow, though, there’s no weight off his shoulders.

Trent visits Clay again later that day. He knocks lightly on the door, stepping inside when Clay rasps out an okay. 

“Hey,” he says, walking over to Clay’s bed. “How are you feeling? Doc’s give you the all clear?”

Clay nods slowly, wincing a little as he shifts to sit up in bed. Trent reaches down to help him but Clay shrugs his hands off absentmindedly. It’s a small gesture, and it shouldn’t sting but it does. Trent pulls his hands back awkwardly, sticking them into his pockets to keep them contained. It reminds him of when Clay first joined Bravo, when he was so desperate to prove himself, so desperate to escape the shadow of his fathers name, that he pushed them all away. The way he thought that to be strong he had to be alone. It took time and energy to break through those walls, to get to the real Clay. The one who pranks Sonny and lets Ray’s kids climb all over him and always has a time to rub Cerb’s belly. The one who’s kind, more then anything else. Trent feels like they’re losing him all over again, even though he’s right in front of them. Like Clay’s slipping through his fingers, even as he tries pull him closer. 

“Yeah, said I’m good to go. They’re discharging me in the afternoon.”

Trent nods, resisting the urge to look through Clay’s chart, just to be sure. That’s not the kind of help Clay needs right now. 

“You got someone to take you home?”

Clay shrugs again, picking at a loose thread in the hem of his blanket. He still doesn’t look at Trent. Almost like he’s afraid of what he’s going to find if he does. 

“No. Figure I’ll just take a cab or something.” 

Trent shakes his head, 

“No way. Come on, I can drive you home, or Sonny. I know he’s sure as shit not doing anything else.”

“It’s fine,” Clay says, almost sharply. “I can handle myself.”

It feels a little bit like a warning, it feels a little bit like Trent’s been playing a game and someone changed all the rules without telling him. He backs off, not pressing it. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know you can. Just…let me know if you need a ride. Offer still stands.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence that sits heavily between them, before Trent musters up the courage to say what he really came here to say. Slowly, he starts. 

“Listen, I…I talked to your dad-I talked to Ash again. He gave up the name of his source. Blackburn’s passing it on now, but looks like it checks out.” 

Clay’s eyes widen just a hair, an emotion Trent can’t identify running across his face before he locks it down under a careful mask of impassivity. He and Ash are similar in that way, Trent thinks, the way they are so good at hiding their true faces. The difference of course is in the face they hide. 

“Didn’t think he had it in him.” Clay intones dryly, “What’d you threaten him with?”

Trent shakes his head, pulling up a chair and finally sitting down beside Clay’s bed. 

“Nothing. He-he did it for you, Clay.”

Clay’s bruised face remains very still, but Trent can see his fingers curl in the sheets by his legs, knuckles white. He looks away, and Trent can only see the profile of his face as his hair flops down over his forehead.

“So what, I’m just supposed to forgive him now? Act like all of the shit he’s done is all good cause he managed to care about someone else for half a fucking second?”

Trent shakes his head. 

“No. You’re not supposed to do anything. You don’t owe him anything, one way or another. But I just… I wanted you to hear that. In the end he did it for you. Doesn’t mean he’s a good person or that you should forgive him or any of it. And if you never want to see him again, then I’ve got your back.” Trent pauses, and says the next part very carefully. “But if you do, I want you to know I have your back then too.” 

Clay nods, head tilting down imperceptibly. Trent doesn’t say anything, just waits. Clay’s shoulders tremble once, then twice, and a sigh that sounds like it could be a sob escapes his throat. Trent pretends he doesn’t hear, clearing his throat and looking away, trying to give Clay some semblance of privacy. After a few seconds Clay takes a deep breath, one hand darting up to swipe at his face. 

“What…What if I don’t know what I want?” He asks, and there’s the faintest shake to his voice, like wind through aspen leaves in the spring. “It’s like… I’m so mad at him sometimes, for what he did to my mom, for just abandoning us like that. But sometimes…

He trails off, voice uncertain, almost ashamed. Trent fills it in in his head, _sometimes he still just my dad._

“If you don’t know, then we help you figure it out. We’ll all have your back, no matter what.”

Trent says softly, reaching out to put a hand on Clay’s knee, feeling the faint warmth of his skin underneath the blanket. And he means it now, with Ash, but he also means it about always. About how they haven’t this last month, and how they’re going to. Clay looks at him, really looks at him, good eye bright and painfully blue against pale skin. And then he nods. 

“Yeah, okay.” Clay says, and there’s no tremble to his voice now. “Okay.” 

And somehow, it feels a little bit like forgiveness. For the first time since Ray got that call yesterday, or maybe for the first time since Clay showed up on his couch with the shit kicked out of him in the middle of the night, Trent feels that weight on his shoulders start to lift. 

In the end, Clay lets Trent drive him home. Lets him double check the dosage on his pain meds, and set him up on the couch, and bring him a glass of water for his first round of pills with a sort of good natured exasperation. 

Clay’s dozing on the couch by the time he leaves, and he pulls a blanket up over his shoulders before he heads out, tucking a pillow under his neck. His phone rings just as he’s letting himself, and he answers quickly so the noise doesn’t wake Clay up. It’s Jason on the other end of the line. 

“You get him home?”

He asks. 

“Yeah,” Trent says, pulling the door closed behind him as gently as he can. “Just leaving now. He’s passed out on the couch.”

“How’s he seem.”

Trent pauses then, and really thinks about it before he answers.

“He’s going to be okay.”

“Good. That’s good. He’s tough.” It’s Jason’s turn to pause now, “The name checked out, some guy in opsec. Guess Ash was offering him a kickback from whatever he made off the book.”

“So the charges against Clay?”

“Dropped. Cake-eaters are looking pretty damn stupid right about now. He’s cleared to be back at work soon as he heals up.”

And there’s a bitter satisfaction to Jason’s voice when he says it. Trent lets out a shaky breath of relief, letting his head fall against the wall behind him, starting up the neutral boring ceiling of the hallway of Clay’s apartment. 

“What about the guys who jumped Clay, NCIS got any leads on them yet?”

He asks, feeling like he already knows the answer.  
“No. But…we got some of our own guys looking into it. Full Metal knows some people.”

“And when he finds them?”

Jason’s voice is sharp with intent when he replies, sharp enough to cut yourself on if you’re not careful.

“Then we deal with them ourselves.” 

After that, they all make their apologies in their own ways. Sonny brings over too much beer and wrestlemania videos that he forces Clay to watch with him, and Brock brings Cerb by to visit at least once a day. Jason and Ray sit with him for hours, and just talk. Trent, for his part, fusses. Makes sure Clay takes all his medications and drives him to the PT appointments for his arm and shoulder and texts him to check in at what he realizes is probably a very annoying frequency. Clay takes it all with good grace, and slowly he heals. The bruises fade and the sling comes off and there’s only slightest scar on his cheekbone from where the assholes had fractured his face. And it takes time, but he opens back up to them too.

It’s been about four months since the attack, and on his last doctor’s visit Clay was finally cleared for active duty again. Trent drove him there to get his cast off, and so he drops him off at his apartment afterwards. 

“Thanks for the ride.”

Clay says as he gathers his jacket and backpack, opening the car door and hopping out. 

“No problem.” Trent says, then, smiling, “See you on Monday.” 

Clay smiles back faintly, and dips his chin. 

“Yeah. See you Monday.”

He starts to walk away, slinging his bag over his shoulder when Trent remembers something, and leaning over in the drivers seat he calls out after him. 

“Hey. Got a message for you from the bartender down at The Beaver, she told me to tell you she doesn’t want to see you around anymore. Think you should listen to her.”

Clay turns back, nods.

“Yeah,” He says almost sheepishly, “Yeah, don’t think I’m going to need it anymore.”

Trent smiles. 

“That’s good.” And then, almost as an afterthought, “Also, don’t think all of this is gonna make me forget you vomited in my bathtub. That shit was so gross to clean, man, you owe me one.”

Clay bursts out laughing then, real, free laughter and Trent can’t help but laugh along with it. And there they are, Trent sitting in his truck and Clay half to the door laughing till their sides hurt and Trent thinks _yeah, we are going to be okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a note, totally not trying to excuse Ash's behavior at all or write off the fact that he's a shitty dad, but I do think his relationship with Clay is complicated and I tried to do justice to that here. Not to redeem him, but to acknowledge that he is still human, and that Clay's feelings about him aren't just black and white. Hope that came across!
> 
> Also, I've been posting pretty much non-stop since March and while it's been super fun and I've really enjoyed all the writing I've been doing for this show I think I'm pretty burnt out so I probably won't be posting a new story here for a bit. But I definitely have an idea kicking around so I'll be back eventually! In the meantime I'm just going to enjoy everyone else's great work :) thanks for all the wonderful comments and support!


End file.
